


just a character i've painted (into a script i overanalyze)

by brokentombstone



Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Smart Starks, Yes together, as in they are being political together, despite the summary this is not crack lmao, political jon and sansa, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentombstone/pseuds/brokentombstone
Summary: “You’ve redecorated,” Sansa says and inclines her chin to the new Lannister banners they have had hung, “Clearly it’s not as busy in the South as it once was.”Cersei’s nostrils flare at her insolence. At the fact that she got the first word in after their years of separation. But Cersei commands herself to stay rooted to her seat, to appear unbothered.--The North learns their Lady has been taken. Sansa and Missandei adjust to their circumstances. The Lion Queen and Dragon Queen are drawn together.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668775
Comments: 58
Kudos: 226





	just a character i've painted (into a script i overanalyze)

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, idk how I feel about this but i'm tired of trying to make it "better" so here you go lol. secondly, i don't intend for these to keep getting progressively longer but that seems to be a theme for me. so here it is, the aftermath of the battle of winterfell, our 8x04 au...as always read the other parts to best understand what is happening :)

Some ten or fifteen minutes after Arya leaves, Bran draws breath. And Jon thinks it is enough to reduce him to tears. Instead, he keeps Bran’s hand firmly pressed in his own and only lets one tear slip by. 

“You’re alright. It’s okay Bran,” Jon says to his brother who is just starting to open his eyes, who is just coming around to his surroundings. 

All around them Jon notices that the remaining Ironborn are crowding. He doesn’t have the energy to say anything to them and just gives them a firm look, give my brother space, it seems to say and they all take half a step backwards. 

Bran’s voice, when it comes, is garbled. Sounding like a mishmash of words rather than an entire thought. 

“I can’t. What? There must be… We have to.”

Bran’s murmurs are unintelligible and Jon places a hand in comfort on his knee. 

“Just stay still little brother, the battle is won. We are safe now,” Jon’s voice is low, reassuring and steady even though his own body reels with exhaustion. 

But then Bran seems to become more alert, he gives his head a vigorous shake. 

“Jon, I can’t see,” Bran’s voice is agonized but it’s the first coherent thought he has gotten out. 

And Jon notices too, that Bran’s voice is so much warmer, and well, human. For the first time since being reunited with him he feels as if it is just his little brother. And he is clearly in pain. Jon draws nearer. 

“You’re blind?” Jon asks in confusion. 

But one look at Bran’s eyes that flash with impatience tells him that he’s wrong. 

“My connection. My vision to the past and future, it must have been severed when the Night King fell… I can’t see anymore. Only what is right in front of me,” Bran’s voice breaks on the last word and Jon pulls him into his arms. 

Because all at once Bran _is_ the little boy who lost his legs by no fault of his own and Jon is the older sibling tasked with taking care of him. He squeezes him tight. Bran returns the hug for a moment but then his breathing becomes frantic again. 

“Wait Jon. I remember something,” Bran pulls back, confusion fogging up his expression, “While I was fading in and out of consciousness…” 

Jon just looks at him in anticipation but not fear. He figures it is something small. Then Bran’s voice comes out hollow. 

“You have to get back to Winterfell. Right now Jon. Go. I can’t remember it all but you have to get back. _Right now_ ,” Bran’s voice is deadly serious and it makes Jon break out in a cold sweat. 

“Bran I can’t leave you,” Jon says, uncertain and remembering his promise to Arya. 

But Bran is already shaking his head, “The Ironborn will take care of me. Go Jon. Her life might depend on it.”

Jon’s cold sweat turns to ice. _Her._ Bran speaks no more and Jon is on his feet, already half at a run. Because there are only two women Bran would speak of with such severity and one of them left here perfectly intact not twenty minutes past. 

When Jon breaks out of the trees he musters all his remaining energy to flat out sprint. 

He is panting and red faced just as he reaches Winterfell’s gates. He can hardly assess the damages as his head pounds with only one thought. He doesn’t let himself think her name, it seems disastrous to even half heartedly will it into existence. 

He is just turning into the courtyard when he collides with someone. On instinct he reaches out to grab them, having the foresight to know someone running full tilt would be bound to knock them over. 

His arms clutch at the person and he comes face to face with Daenerys. 

And it pulls him up short. In all the hours that had passed since he descended and demounted Rhaegal, he hasn’t thought about her at all. Yet here she is, alive and mostly unscathed. She looks slick with sweat, some blood and dirt caked to her clothes, hands, and face. Her braids remain relatively in place and there are no major tears to her garb. But Jon realizes two things after this preliminary intake. 

She holds a sword. It feels odd on her slight frame, she seems at once a young girl and not a Dragon Riding Queen. The second is that her expression is one of deep grief, one of sorrow that Jon has experienced intimately himself. It’s enough to give him pause, even though he cares little for her now, nobody should suffer like that alone. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks as he releases her and she regains her balance.

She seems confused by his sudden presence and then when she finds his eyes several emotions pass at once. Relief. Joy. Anger. Acceptance. Jon is all too aware that the last time they were truly alone he had told her that his parents were Rhaegar and Lyanna. Sansa hadn’t asked, but Jon hadn’t told her about the legitimacy of his birth, he figured that was likely too much for even Daenerys to handle at that moment. 

To say she had handled it poorly was an understatement. She had looked at Jon with a mix of betrayal and disgust, as if he had known all along of his parentage. As if he had planned it from the beginning. Oh, part of him wished he had. It might make things easier now. 

“You left me.” Daenerys’ voice is broken but there is a quiet fury lurking underneath, “I begged you to stay with Rhaegal and you abandoned me Jon.”

Jon stares at her, helplessly. Unsure of the best way to proceed. 

“Dany–” He starts, forgetting how she hates the name. 

(He had only started using it as a way to imitate intimacy, it made it easier for him to feel close to her when he wanted to be anywhere but). 

Daenerys’ eyes flash and she cuts across him, “Jorah’s dead.”

Her voice is flat, lifeless but biting in its delivery. This is no small loss for her. And in truth Jon had come to respect the man despite his crimes against the North. It will not be easy for Daenerys going forward, and Jon worries that the loss will unsteady her further, setting her further down a path of darkness. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he finds he means it. 

The words are inadequate but they seem to appease Daenerys. Though the defensive set of her shoulders doesn’t lessen. 

“He was a good man, he loved me. Though I couldn’t return the affections,” Daenerys says and her eyes seem to take Jon in more fully. She leaves some words unspoken but Jon fills in the blank. 

He feels uncomfortable under her gaze and he remembers then what it is he was rushing towards before they collided. He looks around and sees that people are staring at them. At the Dragon Queen and the man who everyone assumes to be madly in love with her, their King in the North. If only they knew the truth. Would they hate him more or less for loving the woman they still assume to be his sister? (Though Jon realizes they know not that Daenerys is actually his Aunt). They must look at them in awe now, war heroes. Jon knows this day will be sung about for centuries. He only hopes that Arya, Bran, and Theon make it into the verses as well, just as brave and valiant as the ones who took to the backs of dragons. 

“I have to go,” Jon says and he is already moving, “I must find Sansa.”

Daenerys is following him, a few steps behind. 

“Sansa was tucked safely away. Surely your pace is unwarranted,” Daenerys huffs and it is tinged with annoyance and resentment. As if Sansa’s inability to come on the battlefield has made her any less important in the entire endeavour. 

Jon doesn’t respond. 

Shortly thereafter they make their way to the Great Hall. And when Jon sees the doors ripped off he only increases his pace. He hears Daenerys curse under her breath at the sight but she continues to follow closely behind. 

The scene in front of him is a lot to take in. 

The main group is all huddled around someone. They are clearly on the ground as everyone is crouching, but Jon can’t see the figure. He does notice however that Sansa is nowhere to be seen, her red tresses always making her easy to spot. 

The first person he does see that he knows is Gilly. And as his steps slow he calls to her. 

“Gilly?” Jon says, his voice is quiet but everyone stops talking when he speaks. 

Slowly they all turn to him and Gilly looks towards him. Her face is mortified and on the verge of tears. She is not a woman prone to crying and Jon tries to steady his racing thoughts from assuming the worst. The crowd begins to clear and Gilly stays silent, frozen, looking at Jon and unsure of what to say. 

Before him on the floor lies his sister, Arya. She is unconscious, but obviously breathing and Jon’s body floods with relief. Both Tyrion and Varys are right close to her, trying to bring her around. Jon doesn’t stop, he drops to his knees beside them. 

“Lord Snow,” Varys says cautiously, “She passed out only a few minutes ago, I’m sure she’s alright but…”

“What happened?” Jon demands and looks from Varys to Tyrion accusingly. 

Both their eyes go to the letter that is still clasped in Arya’s hands. 

Jon instantly has a sense of foreboding as he reaches to release it from her hands, already dreading whatever it was that could fell his typically ferocious sister so easily. Jon can hear everyone breathing around him as he gets the letter loose and unfolds it.

Jon reads, and the world falls away. 

_Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen,_

_By now you know what I have taken from you. I will not waste time mincing words. If you wish to keep Sansa Stark and the maid Missandei alive then I suggest making for King’s Landing at once to hear my terms. I will not wait patiently._

_Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,_

_Cersei Lannister_

Blood pulses in Jon’s head and he has to read the letter through several times to fully grasp the meaning. Sansa is gone. Taken while the rest of them had been distracted by the woman she hates most in the world. (And while Sansa won’t admit it anymore, Jon knows there is a part of her that fears her as well). Taken into the den of the lion, Cersei Lannister. Back in the same spot that robbed her of her girlhood, that trimmed away her ideals, and snipped out her innocence without forgiveness or regret. Jon hears someone saying something but the pounding in his ears stops him from understanding the words. 

Before he knows what he is doing Jon is launching himself at Tyrion. His anger catapulting him to attack the only one he can blame for something like this. 

Tyrion goes flying back and Jon is on top of him. Holding him down to the floor by his neck. His vision is red. 

“This is your fault dwarf. Your sister! You _trusted_ her and this is what she did!” Jon yells and he knows that everyone is watching him. He seems to be almost out of control of his body, as he was when he beat Ramsay bloody. This is altogether different yet Jon acknowledges the similarities. 

Beneath him Tyrion is struggling for air, “Jon. Lord Snow, I beg you.”

His words come out in harsh rasps. 

Hot tears spring in Jon’s eyes, “She’ll kill her Tyrion. She won’t leave the city alive.”

The anger is giving way in Jon to something worse. Undefinable loss, a sense that he has had his own heart ripped out and stomped on. Leaving only a gaping hole behind, half his soul has been taken from him. 

“Jon,” a voice says, “Release my Hand.”

It’s Daenerys. Her voice is calm, too calm. And it further incenses Jon. It seems to have taken her a few moments but she is trying to control the situation now. Jon presses harder on Tyrion’s windpipe. He gags. 

“Jon?” 

This time it’s an entirely different voice and at once Jon releases his hand and Tyrion starts coughing for air. 

It’s not the first time a Stark daughter has brought him back from the edge. But this time it is Arya not Sansa who has managed it. Jon turns slowly and sees Arya propped up on her elbow, still disoriented from passing out. 

Nobody moves, and Arya just looks at Jon with a knowing ache. Daenerys looks between them and then steps to where the letter fell from Jon’s hands. She picks it up and reads. 

Jon watches, in real time, as she takes in what it means. She seems to turn as white as her hair. Her other fist is clenched tight and her jaw ticks. She closes her eyes and crumples the letter in her hand. 

A few seconds pass. Daenerys’ eyes open and they seem to glint deeper purple when she speaks, her voice sounds haunted. 

“I’ll burn her alive for this.”

* * *

The next several hours pass in a blur of forward action, but Jon feels numb. After his outburst he had apologized to Tyrion who had accepted it with grace but seemed to watch Jon with a peculiar twinkle in his eyes. Jon couldn’t linger on it. 

Arya had come to comfort him and they had sat quietly in each other’s embrace until Bran had been brought by the Ironborn. He had suspected what it was he was walking into but when he realized the truth he had burst into tears, and Jon knew truly that while Sansa had been taken from them, Bran had returned to them in full force. It was an odd sort of bargain to contemplate, trading one for the other. 

They had put into motion the meticulous strategy for the aftermath of the battle that Sansa had lain. The Starks headed it, though Daenerys had helped. But Jon knew she had first sought out Grey Worm. When Jon saw him he imagined he looked much the same way with Sansa gone. Jon tried better to school his emotions after that, lest anyone start saying that Grey Worm and Jon were mirroring each other in their grief. 

They had to collect bodies. It was the biggest order of business. Anyone salvageable was going to be burned on a huge pyre, for their honour to the North and the greater Kingdoms of Westeros. It was then that the losses had rolled in. 

Alys Karstark and Ned Umber, the two young heads of their houses that had once stood before Sansa and Jon. Of course Ser Jorah and Theon. Jon knew that Daenerys had set out into the surrounding grounds to find his body among dozens of others. (Jon had taken Gendry with him to retrieve Theon personally, knowing that Sansa would have excused no less). 

To Jon’s dismay, his long time brother of the Night’s Watch, Edd Tollett had fallen as well. Though he was relieved to find both Samwell Tarly and Tormund Giantsbane well and alive. They too had been a great help in leading the clean up. 

Jon, while moving through the rubble, had found a body he at first thought too small to be out here. And then, with a kind of cold horror, realized that it was tiny Lyanna Mormont, but from her position it was obvious that she had gone out slaying a great giant. Jon thought, with an aching sadness that two Mormonts were lost that night. Jon had picked up her fragile frame with care to bring her to the others. 

Davos had found him then, another one who Jon was happy to see in one piece, to let him know that the Red Woman was dead. It was bizarre, the person who had given him more time in this life was dead now. But Jon couldn’t say he mourned her, not even a little bit. 

There were other names, countless losses that were endured, but after several hours they had cleared all they could, at least from the castle and courtyard proper. Jon had been preparing to light the pyres, having given Theon one last farewell and a pin with a Stark sigil to keep with him, now and always, when one last body was brought forward. 

Towering over those around her, was a very worn looking Brienne. Jon was shocked, he hadn’t even realized that up until this point he hadn’t seen her, there was simply too much happening. She carried what looked like a heavy form between her arms. 

And then the story spread as Brienne came to lay Jaime Lannister with the rest of the dead. 

Brienne, still alive, but Jaime, dead for hours, had been pinned under rubble of an exterior wall that fell during the battle. Some had heard Brienne’s hoarse calls and only just managed to dig them out. It seemed that most were saying that Jaime had dived in front of Brienne, taking the brunt of the wall’s force and saving the woman’s life. 

Jon had watched in a detached sort of way as Tyrion pushed forward to the centre of the crowd to weep over his brother. All that went through Jon’s head is that this cannot get out. Cersei cannot know that her brother Jaime is dead, it will make her more brash and reckless. It will put Sansa and Missandei at risk. She will take it out on Sansa as she did when Robb had Jaime as captive. 

From his side he realized that Bran and Arya had the same fear. The three of them watched in silence. 

And then the dead had burned. The fires blazing long after they had gone inside. There had been a small feast that was supposed to be celebratory, Sansa had had it all laid out. But given the circumstances it was brief. Before that though the Starks had to tell Brienne, and those who weren’t yet aware that Sansa and Missandei had been taken. Brienne was distraught, almost as much as Jon had been and in the fresh loss of Jaime she had hung her head in shame, blaming herself for the capture. Jon had put an end to it, knowing that they would need Brienne going forward. So the sworn shield had resigned herself to their side and swore once again to find and protect Sansa. As for the North, they now knew their Lady had been taken and they were restless, grieving, and worried of what was to come next. 

The feast had ended with Tormund giving a somber toast to Jon and by extension the others who had taken down the Night King: Arya, Bran, and Theon, for their bravery and vigour. He pledged the Wildlings would come South with him to help him win back Sansa Stark, Tormund’s look had been too knowing for Jon’s taste but they had all taken a long drink. 

Only Daenerys looked put off by the display. Watching the Starks with an obvious mistrust glinting in her eyes. Tyrion and Varys were both watchful of the exchange and their Queen’s reaction to it. 

There had been a long meeting after the feast between all those who could be spared. All those who had a stake in the plans of what was to come next. 

The meeting had actually gone quite smoothly. The Starks, along with Brienne, Podrick, Davos, and Gendry, (who, it didn’t escape Jon’s notice, had been glued to Arya’s side since the pyres) had attended. Daenerys and her remaining advisors. Tormund spoke for the wildlings. Many of the higher Lords of the North were present as well, along with Yohn Royce. Sam had gone to be with Gilly, though he had checked in with Jon, seeing if he needed his support, but Jon had let him go. 

The most surprising face was one of Sandor Clegane. He had listened to their proceedings in stony silence and then spoken at the end. 

“I’ll be coming South. Both for my brother and for the Little Bird. I owe her that much,” He had said and then left the room before anyone could question him. 

The only reaction Jon caught was Daenerys’. She had looked dismayed and somewhat frustrated. Jon imagined she was seeing again, firsthand, someone’s utter devotion to Sansa as she had with Theon. 

When the meeting ended Jon had intended to go straight to his chambers to meet with Bran and Arya privately. But Daenerys had stopped him in his tracks. 

“Come and speak to me in my rooms, Jon.” She had breathed into his ear, barely audible. 

It had sent a prickle of dread down his spine. It was the last thing he wanted to do. 

But it was why he had told Bran and Arya to go ahead and why now, he is at her chamber door, hesitating to knock as he had not too long ago on a boat. (He could not, and would not, forget his promise to Sansa). 

Jon finally knocks and Daenerys calls for him to enter. 

Inside, she is seated and looking out the window. She had cleaned up before the feast and her robes now are a deep red. She looks terrifying and terrified all at once, she seems to barely be holding on after all that has passed. Jon can hardly blame her. 

She turns when he enters and seems to consider him for a long time before gesturing for him to sit. Jon does as he is bid. 

“We will get them back Jon. I vow it to you,” Daenerys says after a while. 

Jon only stares out at the rapidly darkening night sky. How long has he been up now? Two? Three days? He has lost count. 

“We have underestimated Cersei, Sansa was right about that much. She has struck us where we are most vulnerable. Your sister and my dearest friend,” Daenerys says and her eyes burn with that same fire Jon saw when he first met her on Dragonstone, that of a conqueror. 

She reaches across the table and takes his hand in hers. 

“But we have each other,” Daenerys says and she makes it sound like a promise. 

All her anger about his bloodline seems to have evaporated since the last time they spoke, in fact she seems to be blatantly ignoring it. Acting as if it does not exist. In truth she is trying, Jon thinks, to get them back to what they once were. (Though, Jon reflects, that was all a farce too). 

It’s why he is caught unawares when Daenerys rises and steps over to his chair, sits in his lap and starts kissing him. It all happens so fast. And Jon is stunned for a few seconds, Daenerys wraps herself around him, even reaching for the waistband of his pants before he comes to his senses and pushes her off. Not roughly, but with enough force to get his point across. He only hopes he hides the obvious disgust on his face well enough. 

Daenerys half stands over him, one arm still on his shoulder. And she looks at a loss. She is not used to rejection, not used to losing what she thinks of as hers. She rights herself and walks to the window. 

“I wish you’d never told me,” her words are full of regret. 

Jon rises with some hesitation and comes to stand behind her. 

“It could never have worked between us Daenerys,” Jon says, cautiously. 

He notices her tense. 

“They love you in the North,” she says, and turns to him, “You and all your siblings. Sansa especially. You’re all loved here.”

Her eyes start to turn dangerous and Jon feels as if he is being backed into a corner. 

“They know us,” Jon tries, “they don’t know you.”

Daenerys holds his gaze, “They didn’t know me in Essos. And yet they loved me.”

Jon only looks at her, knowing that any words he speaks will incense her further. 

“I see how they look at you,” Daenerys starts, “I know the look well. They would go to war for you. They are ready to go to war for Sansa now in a way they never would have for me, for my birthright. What do you think they would do if they knew you had the blood of the Dragon?”

Jon knows she doesn’t want an honest answer. 

“I told you I don’t want the throne!”

“It doesn’t matter what you want!” Daenerys snaps back at him, uncorking her anger finally, “If anyone ever finds out about your parentage it will be the end of me. They will rally behind you, and you bending the knee will have been for nothing! I will never know peace in my rule with your claim looming over my head.”

Jon closes his eyes and sighs, trying to regain control of the rapidly spiralling situation. 

“Tell me what _you_ want then Daenerys,” Jon’s voice sounds like a plea. 

And Daenerys moves forwards, a desperation washing over her as she clutches Jon closer to her. This time he doesn’t pull away. 

“I want it to be as it was between us. I want you to take me to bed as you have before,” Daenerys says and Jon winces.

But she implores further, “Targaryens wed brother and sister for centuries. It matters little that I am technically your Aunt. And I want you to vow to me Jon, that you won’t ever tell anyone of your parentage. We will swear your brother and Samwell to secrecy and never breathe a word of it outside this room. I will take King’s Landing and wed you myself. We will rule the Seven Kingdoms together, as it is meant to be.”

Daenerys is so earnest. Their faces are close and her eyes are vulnerable. She has lain herself bare in this moment and Jon knows there is no way this ends well for them, he can only let her down. Something must show in Jon’s face because slowly, so slowly, Daenerys’ open honesty starts to crack. She pulls back ever so slightly, loosening her grip and curling her lip. 

“You’ve already told them,” Daenerys spits out and she looks enraged. 

Jon knows that now is not the time to lie, he is not so adept at it for it to be genuine and the truth will only be revealed eventually anyways. 

“Aye,” Jon sighs, “Sansa and Arya know. They are my _family,_ Daenerys. You cannot hold it against them.”

But Daenerys doesn’t see it like that. 

“ _Sansa,_ ” she all but snarls, “If she survives the South, will want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne!”

Jon starts to speak but Daenerys soldiers on. 

“Do not deny it Jon. We may have patched things up, but if she knows the truth then she will already be scheming, I wouldn’t put it past her to be whispering your secret to Cersei as we speak.”

Jon explodes, no longer able to contain himself as she tears down the woman he loves, “You don’t know her!”

Daenerys blinks in shock but they are still only a foot apart. She suddenly looks very far away. She speaks as if remembering something long forgotten. 

“You love her and I understand that, not in the way I love you. Yett you love her all the same. But let me tell you,” And Daenerys’ eyes harden, “She’s not the girl you grew up with, Jon. Not after what she’s seen. Not after what they’ve done to her.”

Daenerys stares at him, they’re still connected by her loose arms clinging to him, his hands unconsciously still on her waist. And Jon can’t breathe because for one absurd moment he had thought Daenerys knew of what had passed between himself and Sansa and his blood had run cold. But now, now all he could think was that no, Sansa wasn’t the girl he grew up with. It was why he loved her now, why he needed to rescue her as nobody had been able to the last time she was in King’s Landing. Instead he is stuck here in a war of words with Daenerys Targaryen. 

She regards him for several more long seconds. A look of dismay crossing her face as she seems to consider all that she thinks they could’ve been and what they will clearly never be before she lets him go and his own hands fall away. She strides from the room and leaves him there alone. 

* * *

Eventually, Jon makes it back to his own chambers. It takes him a while to digest everything that had transpired with Daenerys. She was becoming more and more unstable and now it is more important than ever to keep her by their side if they have any hope of retrieving Sansa. 

Jon heaves open the door and closes it behind him. Bran and Arya have seemingly been sitting in silence, letting their grief surround them while they waited for his return. They barely react to his presence. He draws a seat up beside them and gets close to the fire that begins to warm him. He is reminded of the last time he was this near a fire, when he had kissed Sansa. When she had told him she loved him. For one second he relives that bliss, but Bran speaks and interrupts the memory. 

“I am going to remain in Winterfell,” he says. 

It isn’t unexpected to Jon, he had seen his brother deep in thought while they discussed travel plans and he couldn’t deny the sense that it made, but still it pained him to think of the separation. Arya apparently hadn’t considered that they wouldn’t all be travelling together. 

“You can’t!” Arya says, her voice straining. 

Bran sighs, looking weary, “I have to Arya. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. My legs are of no use, my visions are gone. We cannot abandon our duty to the North. Sansa would not forgive us that. I will be of more use here.”

Arya’s mouth hangs open as she searches for an argument. But Bran’s reasoning is sound. Jon backs him up. 

“Sansa will have us skinned alive if we leave our Kingdom without support after we have been ravaged by an army of the dead,” Jon chuckles. 

It’s the first joke he’s made for what feels like ages and even Arya grins.

“Or have us fed to hounds,” Arya says. 

And they all laugh at her dark humour, only because they’ve known the horrors of which she speaks and can take them with lightness now. But the laughs die out quickly and the mood sombers. 

“We have to get her back,” Arya whispers thickly. 

Jon looks to both his younger brother and sister, “And we will. But there are some things you need to know before we depart.”

Bran looks at him curiously and Arya’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Oh, I already know about _that,_ ” Arya says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. 

Jon just looks at her quizzically. 

She gives her head a small shake, “I know all about your well–your feelings Jon!”

Arya spits the words out, and she suddenly looks flustered. But it is Jon who flushes a deep red. He has no response for this. Bran just nods sagely to himself, looking a great deal like the Three Eyed Raven did. 

“It was one of several futures I saw before, but I chose not to intervene of course,” Bran says and his mouth turns up at the end, barely concealing a grin. 

Arya looks at him seriously, “I already gave Sansa my blessing. But I _do_ think it is quite disgusting, I’ll live though. And if you ever hurt her I won’t hesitate to dismember you.”

The threat lingers for half a heart beat before she lets out a wolfish grin at her brother. 

Jon is on the defense though, “I would never.”

“Why do you think I’ve accepted it so easily?” Arya grins again. 

Jon narrows his eyes then, a thought striking him. 

“As for you Arya, I couldn’t help but notice that one Gendry Waters, a Baratheon bastard mind you, was quite close to your side all day,” Jon chastises her and it is Arya’s turn to blush. 

She looks pointedly at the fire and Jon lets it drop, he hopes there are going to be many other days to give his sister a hard time. Now they have serious matters to discuss. 

Until now Jon has mostly pushed down everything he’s been feeling about Sansa’s situation, after his initial outburst he had locked it all up. But the longer he spends here in the safety of Bran and Arya’s company, the quicker he feels his facade slipping. 

“It’s all happening again, Sansa back in King’s Landing. It makes me sick,” Jon admits, eyes not straying from the inferno of the fire. 

“So what’s our plan?” Arya asks, eager to put something into motion. 

“I think Jon was going to tell us about something we needed to know actually Arya,” Bran reminds them. 

And that makes Jon sigh, because it all connects. 

“Daenerys knows about Rhaegar and Lyanna,” Jon says, in much the same way he told Sansa the truth. 

Bran nods, seeming to already realize this from when he was the Three Eyed Raven but Arya gasps for a sudden intake of breath. She looks at Jon with fear in her eyes. 

“She resents how we are loved in the North but she knows she needs us for the time being so she will let me live. She isn’t happy about any of it. We have to tread carefully when we go South Arya. And I don’t think it would hurt if Bran prepared for the potential of things going wrong, readying the North for another battle or whatever else may come,” Jon says with resignation. 

Bran nods again, already mentally preparing for the taxing roll he will need to take on in the next few weeks. He seems to be doing mental calculations and Jon remembers suddenly that Bran has done this before. Lord of Winterfell while Robb and Catelyn had gone off to war. Now it is Jon and Arya going. Sansa still stranded in King’s Landing both times. 

“She doesn’t know about the annulment though,” Jon continues, “And she can’t. What she knows already unhinges her. If she knew my claim truly surpassed her own she would have me burnt before the morning.”

There is a long pause after that. Several minutes pass in silence. 

“I trust you both to bring Sansa back,” Bran says finally, “Even without my vision there is nobody more dedicated to her safety and better equipped to rescue her.”

Jon’s heart pulls for his brother, having him back in a full capacity is almost overwhelming. 

Arya pulls a dagger from her belt and twirls it in her fingers. 

“And if Daenerys doesn’t cooperate… We may have to play a game of faces,” Arya says, something hardening inside her. 

Jon just turns back to the fire. Seeing Sansa’s hair in the flames and hoping that wherever she is she knows in her heart that he is coming for her.

* * *

_Trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark._

The words keep pulsing in Tyrion’s mind as he continues to make his way through Winterfell’s many passages. He had followed Jon to Daenerys’ chambers and listened in on the conversation there. 

The quick dissolution of the relationship between Jon and Daenerys was unfortunate. He knew that Daenerys was tempered by Jon’s presence before. Though he suspected that Jon hadn’t truly loved Daenerys, that he had used her to fill some void in himself. Then of course Daenerys’ anger about Sansa had been tiring if not unexpected. He had known that the tentative truce between the two was likely fraught and fragile anyways. But Tyrion knew Sansa. And he knew that her enemies had a funny habit of turning up dead. And with Sansa on her way to Cersei right now… Well he didn’t usually bet against Cersei but he might just have to this time. 

That reminds him and causes him to wince. Cersei. Jaime. The loss of his brother is still fresh. He had weeped, losing the only person in his family he felt truly cared for him had been an agonizing kind of loss but he knew that it was likely to be infinitely more difficult for Cersei whenever the news reached her. Tyrion was a Lannister through and through though, he knew that he had to put aside his feelings for the time being. He could mourn for Jaime later. 

Now the information he had discovered drove him forward. He had followed Jon almost absentmindedly and when he realized that Jon had gone to his siblings, he had listened eagerly. He had missed the first part of the conversation. Only getting close enough once the conversation was already on Rhaegar and Lyanna. It had been surprising enough to hear the revelation of Jon’s parents when he listened in on his conversation with Daenerys. His Queen had already known the information and yet told none of her advisors. Perhaps with quite good reason, Tyrion thinks now. The fact hadn’t actually been altogether unrealistic either, it made sense. The timeline, Ned Stark’s honour, his duty to Catelyn Tully and his undying love for his sister Lyanna. It was startling nobody had seen it before. 

But it seemed Jon was keeping more secrets. And when he spoke of the annulment it had almost made Tyrion call out. From what he knew of Rhaegar it seemed like something he would do. Cast aside his wife Elia for a younger and shinier girl on the cusp of womanhood. Forsaking his vows and undermining his other children in the process. 

Which makes Jon, not Daenerys, the heir to the Iron Throne. Tyrion had left after that information was revealed. The Starks had seemingly devolved into silence and Tyrion had a great deal to consider. 

It is then that he reaches his destination. He opens the door to Varys’ chambers without knocking. 

Varys is still up, writing a letter, but he seems surprised by the intrusion. A fire burns low in the corner yet the room is dark. It fits the mood well for the words Tyrion is about to speak. 

“Lord Tyrion? What brings you here so late?” Varys asks, amicable as ever. 

Tyrion comes to the table and starts straight away. 

“Do you still believe in Daenerys?” Tyrion asks, and he hopes it is the right move and that Varys will not go running to Daenerys this instant. 

Varys merely looks at him without shifting his expression, “I am loyal to our Queen. What is it you ask Tyrion?”

“What if there were another?” Tyrion demands, “What if she were not the heir?”

Varys almost goes back to his letter, rolling his eyes.

“Do not play hypotheticals with me to try and bait me Tyrion. It will not work,” Varys says tiredly. 

Tyrion grasps the man’s hand. 

“Jon Snow is not Ned Stark’s bastard,” Tyrion whispers, almost afraid someone is outside the door at this moment. 

Varys’ eyes flicker before he can school his expression, “What is it you have found out Tyrion?”

“Jon’s parents were Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia. Jon is the trueborn heir,” Tyrion says in a rush.

And he watches Varys absorb the information, who seems, for once, shocked. He is unable to speak for several seconds. When he does, it is not at all anything Tyrion would have expected. 

“Does Sansa know this?” Varys asks sharply and then seems to instantly change course, “Do the other Starks know?”

But the first question reminds Tyrion of Jon’s hands tight around his neck earlier today. A bit of a strong reaction for a brother to have over a stolen sister. It had been a brief thought Tyrion had entertained that he had all but forgotten in the excitement of this information. But now he thinks all he has heard of Jon and Sansa since they took back the North. The way they are revered, the comparisons to Ned and Catelyn Stark. The way Jon had reacted on Dragonstone when Tyrion had spoken of Sansa, defensive and overly protective. Unbidden he sees Jaime and Cersei, a multitude of images from over the years dancing behind his eyes. 

“You think? Jon and Sansa?” Tyrion asks, breathless.

Varys, lit by the flames, looks grave. He gives the tiniest nod of his head. 

And so they go, talking late into the night, about their Queen, about the true heir of the Iron Throne, and about one Sansa Stark, the girl she was and the formidable woman they saw she had become, now far off on her way to King’s Landing. 

* * *

Cersei waits. 

It is something she has grown accustomed to over the years and while she is not a patient person, she knows that the things she wants take time. 

Since Jaime had left, time has passed strangely. Seeming to rush forward all at once and then slow down to an almost halt. She saw so few people now. The Mountain, Qyburn, a few attendants, Euron Greyjoy before she sent him away. 

She reminds herself that this is the life of a Queen. It is her life, solitary but safe. For what feels like an eternity her existence has been defined by the men around her. Her father first, then Rhaegar Targaryen and his refusal to marry her, followed by Robert Baratheon, her bastard of a husband, even Jaime at times had been suffocating. Now she finds she is free but she has never been more miserable. 

Maybe it’s because for years all that drove her were her children and Jaime, they’ve all left her now and Cersei is slowly starting to realize that a Kingdom without anyone to share it with is quite lonely. 

She rules through Qyburn essentially, having him go about their preparations for the war she knows is going to come for her. Though she does occasionally see the small people and their plights, it is her duty and she knows it is wise to keep herself in their good graces. After being mocked and ridiculed by them and forced to parade through the city naked, it doesn’t hurt to inspire a dose of fear either. 

She knows the battle is over, that they have finished off the Night King and his army of wights. (Cersei shudders at the thought, her memories of the dead _thing_ are still too close when she closes her eyes). She knows that Euron Greyjoy’s men come South with her prize, the scheme she had concocted to put an end to this war without setting foot on the battlefield. They have their spies, even with Varys long gone. The information is often incomplete but it comes eventually. 

She had purchased the Golden Company and they were stationed around the city at present but she would rather not use their services, it would be so much more satisfying to bring the Targaryen cunt and her brother Tyrion to heel this way instead. Less blood but more painful for the silver haired bitch, Cersei thinks with excitement. 

It hadn’t been hard to pick out the maid girl, Missandei, when thinking of who would hurt Daenerys the most. Her other advisors she kept at a distance, Varys and Tyrion. Jorah Mormont had been a contender, sure, but Cersei had thought that the man was more devoted to the Dragon Queen than she was in turn. Not to mention she knew for a fact that Jorah would be in the battle fighting for his Queen, stealing him would be nearly impossible. Missandei on the other hand, would be out of the way of the fighters. And Missandei was someone Daenerys regarded as more friend than advisor, though Cersei suspects that the power differential there keeps things at a distance. All in all it was a fool proof plan. 

And then it had hit Cersei. Because believe it or not, she had first intended only to take Missandei but when she realized that wherever Missandei was staying was likely where _she_ would be as well. And frankly that had been a temptation too sweet to ignore. Furthermore Cersei knew that this added element would strengthen her bargaining power. 

Sansa Stark. A name that haunts Cersei to this day. Any time now Sansa Stark will be back in King’s Landing at Cersei’s mercy. She was never meant to get away but Littlefinger had always been too slippery for his own good. Cersei vividly recalls the wedding where her beloved son Joffrey had died, and remembers screaming Sansa’s name as she fell to the ground in anguish over her boy. She knew somehow, in those few seconds that it was too late, that Sansa would be long gone. 

And even now, knowing that it had been the old crone Olenna Tyrell, she couldn’t fully absolve Sansa. She suspects still that there is more to that story than she has unearthed. 

But it matters not. Because Sansa is coming back. It doesn’t matter that she was smuggled out to the Vale, that she was sold to the Boltons or that she escaped with the Greyjoy boy. It will never matter that she fled to the wall, that she and her bastard brother fought with blood and tears for their cherished Winterfell. (Though Cersei will admit, she had been impressed to hear that Sansa was the one to kill Littlefinger. If she thought about it too long, she even felt a certain sense of pride). But in the end she is back here. Back in King’s Landing with nobody to help her. 

Cersei can’t help but let a smile spread across her face and she sees it in the mirror as she examines her complexion. 

She had been disappointed when Sansa hadn’t come to the Dragonpit meeting. She hadn’t been surprised she had abstained. Sansa, despite Cersei’s vocalizations, was not stupid. Especially not now. She had been wise to stay away in the North while she still could. Cersei considers what will happen now.

Missandei and Sansa. The one most dear to the Dragon Queen and the matriarch of the Starks. The one the North rallied behind. And if Cersei’s informants had been correct, the sibling most dear to their bastard King, Jon Snow. 

Now that was peculiar. Before everything had gone to shit Cersei knew that Sansa regarded Jon Snow as her bastard brother, making the distinction every time. And she had sensed no fondness coming from him either, in their brief time together in Winterfell. But the words on the wind said they had both changed much since then. 

The North admired the two of them like no others, they had journeyed far and wide rallying together the Northern forces they could muster and it was said that Jon Snow nearly attacked Ramsay Bolton at the parlay when he insulted Sansa. Not to mention the bloodying he was given when they did storm the castle, though he had given Sansa the kill. So thoughtful, Cersei muses, it is the kind of gesture Jaime would have given her. 

And they say that Jon and Sansa moved in unison after that, their mere presence in the North enough to strengthen and unify like never before. And Cersei knew it was no small thing that Jon had left the North in Sansa’s hands when he left for Dragonstone. 

But all of this is secondhand, coming to Cersei from rapidly drying up sources, and nothing she has observed with her own eyes. She has never seen the two together, though she supposes the fact that she has heard so much counts for something. They have clearly become mythic in the North, more story than human she thinks.

No, the only thing Cersei has witnessed herself is so small, so minute, she has half a mind to disregard it altogether. Yet she continues to circle back to it. 

The Dragonpit meeting. There had been a moment after everything had settled, when Jon had moved towards that awful woman Brienne. Cersei knew that she was Sansa’s sworn shield and she had drawn near enough to overhear just some bare essentials. The conversation was about the Lady of Winterfell and she heard nothing more. But she saw, _oh_ she saw so much. 

Jon Snow’s jaw had set into a firm line, his eyes narrowed, his fist clenching and he looked as if he was set on fire. His hackles were raised like he was a true Northern wolf. There had been a fierce protectiveness in that moment. And if Jon Snow reacted that intensely when he knew Sansa was safe in their family’s home… Well Cersei could not imagine how he would react when he learned that Sansa was in her clutches once again. With the sense to bend the knee and retreat in peace, she hoped. 

But something pricked in the back of Cersei’s mind. A thought she wasn’t quite ready to voice fully yet, something about them. About Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. She would wait for the girl to arrive before she considered it any further.

Just at that moment there is a knock on her chamber door. 

“Enter,” Cersei calls. 

The door opens and Qyburn is there, deferent as usual, “They are here, Your Grace.”

Cersei’s heart starts to pound, “Thank you, Qyburn. I’ll be down shortly.”

Qyburn leaves without another word and Cersei takes one last look at herself in the mirror. Older than the last time she had seen Sansa but it can’t be helped. Her hair though, it will be the biggest difference. Cersei has come to enjoy her hair, it makes something inside her feel sharp, like she herself is becoming a blade ready to be wielded in battle. She smirks at herself, runs a hand through the cropped locks and lets them drop. She smooths her dress, it is a crimson red that she has taken to wearing recently and she finds it suits her well. Before turning from the vanity she snags her crown and places it on her head. 

She nearly runs down to the throne room. She can’t contain herself, and her feet seem to be moving separately from her body. But before she gets carried away she stops herself a few halls over and takes on a more reserved pace, schooling her expression into one of cool indifference before entering. 

She enters from the back of the room, the throne at the far end. There are three figures that are far enough away that she doesn’t see them in detail. Two on their knees and one standing. She pays them no mind as she strides to her throne though she feels the one standing watching her the entire way. She doesn’t flinch. 

She reaches the throne and sits down, smoothing her skirts and getting comfortable before she turns her eyes to them. She is careful to only look at Euron Greyjoy first and she speaks to him directly. 

“Leave us,” Cersei commands, almost bored. 

Euron looks immediately affronted, “Your Grace, but you said–”

“I know what I said,” Cersei says primly, “All promises will be kept. Leave us.”

She hopes he doesn’t make her repeat herself a third time. He considers her for a long time before huffing out a great sigh and making his way out a side door. It isn’t until she hears it shut that she turns to the others. 

She has to look down her nose to see them kneeling and she likes the power that courses through her veins when it happens. 

Neither of them are gagged, only tied at their hands and feet. But they don’t struggle and know better than to speak now, not the way Ellaria Sand and her daughter Tyene had. Though Cersei can tell they weren’t handled nearly as roughly either. They both look tired, a bit unkempt but overall unharmed, though there is some stain on Sansa’s dress, Cersei can’t tell what it is from the distance. 

She saves their faces for last. She looks to Missandei first. She seems defiant but Cersei can read some fear, barely kept in under the surface. She knows the girl was once a slave, that she has done her fair share of suffering. But being brought before a Queen? Possibly to die? This is unknown territory. She composes herself well though, Cersei muses. Almost daring Cersei to provoke her. This could be fun. But finally she lets herself turn fully to Sansa. 

And to her instant fury, Sansa isn’t even looking at her. She is merely looking around the room. Completely avoiding Cersei’s eye at all. 

“You’ve redecorated,” Sansa says and inclines her chin to the new Lannister banners they have had hung, “Clearly it’s not as busy in the South as it once was.”

Cersei’s nostrils flare at her insolence. At the fact that she got the first word in after their years of separation. But Cersei commands herself to stay rooted to her seat, to appear unbothered. 

“I prefer something more regal than that which my sons favoured,” Cersei responds, indulging her. 

Sansa turns to Cersei finally and Cersei has to grip firmly to her chair to stop from letting out a strangled sound of shock. Because nothing could have prepared her for the _woman_ staring back at her. 

All this time she had been thinking about Sansa as a girl, as the child she once was. But as soon as she looks Cersei in the eye she is haunted. Because Sansa’s eyes are clear, steady, and wise after the years of suffering she has endured. She looks battle-ready. Her face has some dirt, her hair is getting a bit greasy but is still plaited well enough to make her look like a high lady that she is. ( _Like a Queen,_ a quiet voice snarls in the back of her head. Cersei pushes it down). And Sansa’s chin juts out just so, letting Cersei know she won’t cower here, that she is not the Little Dove that she once was. 

“I’m sure you are both wondering what it is we intend to do with you, now that you are here?” Cersei asks, as if she is merely hosting them and not keeping them hostage. 

She thinks she detects the faintest eye roll from Sansa but Missandei doesn’t move. 

Cersei stands up and starts to descend from the dais. 

“I have taken two people very dear to those who are most likely to defy me,” Cersei says, “I think that with your cooperation we can put an end to this war without anymore bloodshed. I hope we can make Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen agree that you are, should we say, _worth it.”_

It is subtle, and Cersei is still some ten feet from Sansa and Missandei though she has reached the ground, but she thinks she sees Sansa bristle at Jon’s name. _There it is,_ Cersei thinks to herself, and files away the information for later. 

“It’s a clever plan,” Sansa admits and gives a nod of her head. 

Missandei is shaking her head before Sansa finishes. 

“She will burn the city,” Missandei speaks with finality. 

Cersei turns sharply to her, taking a few more steps, and she sees Sansa’s eyes flash towards the woman as well. 

“If she burns the city, she will be leaving you to die,” Cersei snaps, disbelieving. This is the Dragon Queen’s dearest friend.

Missandei smiles sadly, sagely, as if the weight on her shoulders is heavy. 

“You don’t know our Queen. She understands sacrifice,” Missandei says and turns to look out the window. 

Cersei doesn’t know what to make of her words. She is momentarily stunned. Of course it is Sansa who responds first. 

“Jon won’t let her burn the city,” Sansa says and it is almost a whisper, there is something in her voice that aches and Cersei picks up on it immediately. 

Missandei turns to her then and Cersei watches both of them as they exchange a look that is heavy with meaning. Meaning she is not privy to, but it seems as if they have a silent conversation all their own. 

“This is an ordeal you can die in, or one you can walk away from. If you want to live, do not make things difficult for me,” Cersei says stiffly and she feels as if she is talking to children.

There is no guessing this time, she sees Sansa roll her eyes. 

“I have survived you once already Cersei,” Sansa says.

And she knows Sansa is brushing off the situation, that she is acting mighty to spite her. But it still grates her nerves. She comes to stand right before her and glares down at her. 

“I will not be letting you slip through my grasp so easily once again, Little Dove,” Cersei says with all the venom she can muster, “I think we have _both_ learned from past mistakes on that front.”

Cersei’s eyes glint and she makes her way to the door, she plans to fetch men to bring these two to their rooms. But Sansa calls out. 

“Cersei wait!” And Cersei can tell from her voice that she wishes she didn’t have to say whatever it is that she is about to.

Cersei does not turn around but comes to a stop. 

“I was injured, stabbed in the leg during the battle. I convinced Euron to get the wound cleaned but I could do with making sure it isn’t infected,” Sansa says. 

The stain, Cersei thinks, is blood. And she wants to slap the idiot Euron. Sansa could have been dead by the time they reached King’s Landing, she should’ve been more explicit with her instructions. 

“I will have it seen that Qyburn comes to give you aid for the injury,” Cersei says.

And she continues out of the room, leaving Sansa and Missandei on their knees.

* * *

All Sansa can think is that Cersei had been different. It shouldn’t surprise her as much as it does and yet she can’t help but be taken aback. She had spent the entire meeting dreading having to ask to be looked after in regards to her leg but Cersei had agreed without hesitation. It makes sense, Sansa thinks, she doesn’t want them dead unless directly under her order. But still it wrong footed her. Sansa had been prepared for war when she got to King’s Landing. 

Waking up on a ship miles from King’s Landing had been distressing to say the least, but she had kept it together. Demanding that Euron get her wound cleaned and that they have proper food and water. He had toyed with them but clearly Cersei had instilled a hands off policy, because for the most part they had been left alone. It had given Sansa a lot of time to think. 

She didn’t even know who had survived the battle, she didn’t know if Jon was alive to come after her. (Would he come after her? Sansa couldn’t help the doubt that creeped in after nobody came the last time). She didn’t know about Arya, Bran, Theon, or Brienne. Nothing. She only knew that Gilly had been alive with the children and that she and Missandei were taken out before the wights had run through them all. She can still feel them clawing at her, can still feel herself being stabbed. Theoretically the Night King could’ve won, he could be the only one coming for them. But that isn’t the way Cersei spoke, she spoke as if there were living left who would care that Sansa and Missandei were here. 

Somehow Sansa thought that might be worse. Because while Daenerys was dangerous, bending the knee to Cersei for their lives helped nobody. She was just as wicked. 

The journey itself had been somewhat enjoyable actually, because of Missandei. The days they had spent locked in that room had forced them to come together. They had both wept at first, holding each other in the dark. And then they had talked. So much of their time was spent telling each other stories. Tales that eventually became the stories of their lives. Sansa thought that she had hardly told anyone outside of her family so much of what had transpired since she left Winterfell as a girl. 

And in turn Missandei told her story. Her time as a child, to that of a slave, to that of Daenerys’ advisor. Her life was harsh, but full of its happy times as well. And Sansa felt guilty when she listened to it and thought of ways that this could benefit her in going against Daenerys, but she knew that she had shared enough with Missandei that she herself could go back to Daenerys with an inside perspective as well. Of course Sansa kept her most precious secrets close to her heart, and she assumed Missandei did too. 

Still, it seems like a fair enough bargain. Because of their circumstances they were allies now, if not rapidly becoming friends. It has been a long time since Sansa had a friend who was a woman she thinks. She has Arya now, but a sister is always different. And she has Brienne, but Brienne will always be her protector first, a confidant yes, but still not quite a _friend._ Sansa finds she quite likes the idea. 

The last true friend wasn’t so true at all, Margaery Tyrell, the name is bittersweet. Sansa only hopes that this friendship will have a different end than that one did. 

That thought brings her back to the present. Qyburn had just left. He had tended to her leg, which thankfully was healing well, and told her that he would be back periodically to continue caring for it. He was an odd man, a bit off putting. But she was glad for the care. 

The room they had been brought to is a bit too similar to the room she had here as a girl for her taste but she doesn’t remark on it. She’d rather not dwell on that unfortunate fact. She turns to Missandei who stands at the window. 

“It isn’t what I expected,” she says and looks at the city, “We only went as far as the Dragonpit before but still it feels…”

Sansa comes to stand beside her, “Horrible?”

Sansa goes for the joke but Missandei shakes her head and turns to Sansa. 

“Old,” Missandei decides and then continues, “It is ancient here. You can feel the history in the walls. This is the city of Daenerys’ ancestors.”

Sansa stills. It is a touchy subject between them and they both know it. Missandei has spoken of her time with the Dragon Queen in Essos broadly but nothing more. Neither of them talk in the present of the political situation or Daenerys really at all. Sansa doesn’t breathe and Missandei continues, veering the subject away from dangerous waters. 

“You handled yourself well today with Cersei,” Missandei notes and goes to sit on the bed. 

Sansa follows her and sits beside her, “Thank you. It took nearly all my effort not to tremble if I’m being honest with you. She still frightens me more than most.”

It is the type of honesty that doesn’t come naturally for Sansa, not with those outside her pack but she has been with Missandei long enough now that it isn’t so hard. 

Missandei pats her hand, “We all have that which sends us back to frightened children.”

Sansa decides to be bold. 

“And what is it which makes you a child again Missandei?”

It is Missandei’s turn to still and Sansa thinks she isn’t going to respond. But she does, it seems Missandei never flinches from the questions Sansa asks her.

“Being separated from the one who I love,” Missandei says and then draws herself up, moving to the adjacent chamber to change into a night dress that was left here for them. 

Sansa stays on the bed. It is a strange response because Sansa gets the distinct impression that Missandei wasn’t talking about being separated from Daenerys. She never spoke of Daenerys with love but with deference. Love though. Love, Sansa understands. The only person that Missandei has spoken of which the word could apply to is Grey Worm. _Torgo Nudho._ She had told Sansa once during the journey. 

Sansa thinks of Jon again. Somewhere far from here, are Jon and Grey Worm united in their cause to regain the women they love back? Sansa doesn’t know what the best thing to hope for given the circumstances.

* * *

“I don’t see what is stopping me from taking Drogon and Rhaegal straight to the city, it is the quickest way to get her to stand down,” Daenerys says with utter exhaustion. 

Jon heaves a sigh and everyone around the room tenses. It has been lurking under the surface, this desire to threaten Cersei with force, but she seems to forget what the implications are if that is what happens. She seems unfamiliar with what having a hostage actually means for them. 

“They’ll die,” Jon deadpans. 

And everyone turns to look at him, even Arya’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

Jon has thought of nothing but Sansa as they travelled to King’s Landing. He agonizes over her fate day and night. He feels as if he has been left adrift in the sea and his casual utterance now is borne out of his complete refusal to listen Daenerys’ whining anymore. Tomorrow they will be outside the city to hear Cersei’s demands and Jon is fed up with Daenerys. She has been unbearable on the journey. Jon has stuck close to Arya the entire time to avoid spending any time more than necessary with her, especially after their last disastrous meeting. 

“Not if I get to the Red Keep quickly enough,” Daenerys says through gritted teeth.

Logically Jon knows that Daenerys cares about Missandei. But she continues to act illogically and so Jon has to rise, even if he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Aye when a great bloody dragon fills the sky Cersei will have Missandei and Sansa’s throats slit before you can even find the Keep,” Jon says hotly and rises from his seat, placing his hands on the table, “And if you start burning the city up then they have even less chance of surviving the flames.”

It has gone unsaid that Daenerys desires to see King’s Landing in flames, but Jon knows her well enough by this point. He is daring her to deny her heart’s desire. 

“You think I would dare to put Missandei’s life in harm’s way?” Daenerys accuses him as her voice rises an octave higher. 

Jon slams his fist on the table. 

“Cersei has taken two hostages and I would think the _Queen_ would do well to remember that,” Jon nearly shouts. 

The rest of the council seem frozen between the two of them. The air is crackling as Daenerys gives Jon a scathing look. Let her be angry, Jon thinks. It is better for her to be mad here than on Dragonback, it will keep them all the safer. 

Daenerys stands up now. 

“I think it is _you_ Lord Snow, who has forgotten that we are not merely dealing with a hostage situation but in fact the fight for my birthright. Which the North is indebted to help me claim after the Long Night, if I may remind you,” Daenerys says, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. 

Suddenly she is the woman in Dragonstones’ throne room who told him in no uncertain terms that the North was in open rebellion against her throne. 

Everyone looks at him, waiting for his response. But Jon fears showing his hand as his rage starts to simmer. He can feel Arya’s eyes boring into him, pleading with him to get control of himself. Jon continues to stare at Daenerys. 

“I advise we go and hear my sister’s demands and then work on our plan for extraction from there,” Tyrion says, trying to diffuse the tension. 

Daenerys says something cutting about Tyrion’s loyalty to the Lannister name that Jon misses because he and Arya are exchanging covert glances. They have been formulating their own plans on the road and both are wondering how they will be executed as they get closer to the city. 

Jon takes his seat again as Daenerys continues to argue with Tyrion about Cersei. Jon tunes it out and his mind drifts back to Sansa. He can’t help but picture her, locked in a tower room somewhere. Maybe looking out a window even now, out to where he is coming to rescue her. Jon knows Robb’s failure to take her out of King’s Landing is a sore spot in her life, one that she was almost ashamed to admit. Because she knows it was never Robb’s fault. But she had spent years thinking he would come, yet he never did. Jon won’t let her suffer that same disappointment again. 

He wonders how she is doing now. She is strong, the strongest person he knows, and yet he doesn’t want her to _have_ to be. Being with Cersei is its own kind of hell he imagines. Though he hopes that maybe Missandei is able to be of some comfort, he knows that she is not so alone this time. Even if the two have no love between them, they are in the situation together. 

(Jon doesn’t allow himself to imagine failure. He doesn’t allow himself to imagine Sansa slipping through his grasp. It is a possibility that his entire being rejects, so it only comes to him in dreams. When he wakes in a cold sweat and tears dried on his face). 

Before he realizes what is happening everyone is getting out of their seats and heading out. One glance at Arya tells him that he has zoned out for quite some time. So he rises as well and follows her out of the room. Just as he gets to the door though he feels someone tug on his sleeve. 

“My Lord, a moment if you please?” the voice is none other than Lord Varys.

Jon has had little to do with the man overall but all of a sudden he feels very nervous. He has never known what to make of him, even with what Sansa has told him. He seems altogether unknowable and as the door closes behind them and they are both alone he feels a sweat start dripping down his spine. Before Jon can speak Varys draws up a seat and gestures for Jon to do the same. He does so and then looks at the man expectantly. 

“Tyrion Lannister wants you on the Iron Throne,” Varys says then and it’s a good thing Jon took a seat because he thinks the statement would have knocked him on his ass. 

Tyrion? The Iron Throne? He was under the impression that the man hated him or thought him a right idiot. 

Jon can only sputter, “I–I what?”

Varys holds a steady gaze. 

“He has discovered the truth of your parentage, even the truth that Daenerys herself does not yet know,” Varys says quietly while looking at Jon the whole time, his mouth now gaping, “Do not try to deny it.”

Jon finally pulls himself together even as he feels himself deflating. His secret is out to more people and that makes it all the more dangerous. He wishes for Sansa’s presence more than ever. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Jon asks, still in disbelief. 

Varys studies him for a long time. He sits in silence, contemplating. 

“I no longer think the Dragon Queen is good for the realm,” Varys says slowly, “But I also do not think that _Tyrion_ is good for the realm. So I find myself with a dilemma.”

Sansa would know what to do here, what to say to put the situation in their favour. All Jon can do is listen as Varys directs him where he wants this to go. Varys takes his silence as a cue. 

“I have started to think about how to deal with this situation but I won’t act if you are unwilling to claim your birthright,” Varys says, “In case it isn’t clear I think _you_ could be good for the realm.”

Jon thinks that he is hardly being given a choice. The implication that if he refuses then Daenerys will be informed of Jon’s strengthened claim lingers in the air. Jon thinks quickly and comes to the conclusion that letting Varys think he is in control here is likely the best course of action. 

“And if you one day think that I am no longer good for the realm?” Jon asks skeptically. 

Varys watches him for a long time again. 

“If we are able to retrieve Sansa Stark,” Varys says and then pauses, turns to look out the window towards King’s Landing. Turns back to Jon and his eyes cut. “I would see you two wed. And I think that is likely to be the best thing the realm has seen in many a year. A just woman, and an honourable man. It has been what I have sought for years now.”

Jon doesn’t move. He doesn’t react. Because it seems that all they have hidden in the shadows is tumbling out into the light of day. Varys continues. 

“I admit I would rather have this conversation with your cousin. I underestimated her severely in her youth but she has become all a Queen should be. She is loved in the North and the Starks are an ancient house. I admire her in many regards. She should be here for this,” Varys sighs, “Sansa is the politician and you the tactician. You balance each other well.”

Jon still isn’t breathing. 

“I will claim my birthright,” Jon says finally, “If you explain to me how you plan to deal with Tyrion and Daenerys. And tell me what your plans are to get Sansa out alive.”

Varys, in his way, almost looks gleeful and Jon has to hide his shudder as Varys starts in on a long explanation.

* * *

Sansa is in chains. Since the first meeting with Cersei she has barely seen the woman until her and Missandei were summoned today. It seems Cersei has no interest in her hostages. They were prepared by some maid servants and then brought to the Throne room. Cersei told them nothing but had them chained and led through the halls of the castle. It isn’t until they are outside that Sansa gets any idea as to what is going on. 

As they approach the front gates of the city she gets a sick feeling in her stomach. And as they go to climb the steps she thinks she knows what this is about. They have come to talk with the Queen, to make their deals or not. Her gut clenches. There is no reason to assume Jon will be here. This is the business of the crown and Jon may not be here at all. But she hopes, she hopes beyond hope. 

As they climb Missandei speaks under her breath. 

“Do you know where we are going?” she breathes.

Sansa speaks out the side of her mouth.

“It’s the place we will have our fates decided I imagine,” Sansa says in resignation. 

She sees Missandei set her shoulders as they are both led to the top of the city’s ramparts. She is a woman with self respect, to the bitter end, Sansa knows the feeling. When they get to the top the sun is blazing and Sansa is instantly too hot and vividly reminded of another sunny day when her father’s head was cut off in front of her. She tries not to throw up. 

It takes several seconds for Sansa to take in the scene. Some hundred feet from the gates is a delegation and in the far distance Sansa sees the unmistakable hordes of an army. (It is a scene she spent hours imagining as a girl). The delegation though, Sansa can’t make out individuals yet. She sees the unmistakable white hair of Daenerys though, the rest of them are merely a mass. 

“It seems Jon Snow has come for you after all Little Dove,” Cersei says after a few minutes and she sounds so triumphant it takes a moment for the words to register. 

Sansa looks down instinctively and sees that Qyburn is walking out the gates to meet with the small group of people. Sansa can see them more clearly, close as they are. Daenerys, Tyrion, Grey Worm, and Varys are closest to the front. Behind them she sees three more and her heart pounds. Jon is here, whole and alive. He is unmistakable to her, the set of his shoulders, the colour of his hair. She has to stop a choked sob from breaking through her armor. Then she sees two women. Arya and Brienne, and she feels warm all over. They are here. Here for her, and she thinks that even if she dies in this city she will die knowing she was worth the fight, that she had people she loved who loved her in return and were willing to risk their lives to come here for her. 

She can’t make out any of the conversations below of course but Qyburn eventually turns around and stalks back into the city. He makes his way up to them a few minutes later and talks to Cersei too quietly for her to hear. Cersei looks satisfied though and nods. Qyburn makes some signal and Sansa watches as Tyrion comes closer. After a moment of being unsure, he shouts up. 

“Cersei,” Tyrion’s voice reaches them, “Stop this madness. I am begging you, as your brother. This is only prolonging the inevitable.” 

Cersei’s back is to Sansa but she can hear the sneer perfectly as Cersei shouts down. 

“Qyburn has told you my terms,” Cersei says, “You have one week to surrender or I deliver you the heads of my hostages to the Dragon Queen’s dining table.”

The words aren’t surprising but they are still revolting. She looks to Missandei and they exchange a brief look of distress. It is some solace knowing that their fates are linked, even if that puts them both in harm’s way. 

Sansa thinks she can see Daenerys practically vibrating with rage even from the great distance. 

Tyrion tries again. 

“And the dragons?” Tyrion nearly winces. 

Cersei bristles but Sansa doubts they can see it from the ground, “You once told me your Queen was no butcher. There are innocents inside the city.”

“You have never cared for the innocents Cersei, do not act as if you do now.” 

It happens quickly, so quickly Sansa has no time to react. One moment she is merely watching the action, the next she is being dangled over the edge of the ramparts. She can’t even get out a strangled sound as she looks at the ground so far below her. Her heart races and she tries to steady her breathing, focusing on not struggling lest she plummets downwards

Cersei must have given some prearranged signal because the Mountain has grasped her tightly and now holds her perilously over the edge. There is a large commotion below and she watches as Jon tries to make his way out of the group, only to be restrained by Arya and Brienne, both of them looking desperately between the two, even as Sansa continues to hang. She wants to call to him, to assure him she is fine. She settles for this instead. For one burning moment her and Jon lock eyes, she is closer to him now that she is here on the edge. It gives her the strength to keep fighting. And gives him the courage to stand down and let the threat be made. 

Cersei steps forward and calls down. 

“You think I’m bluffing, but it is not the small people I have issue with. It is highborns who cause me trouble and those are who will suffer in the end. One week.” Cersei says. 

And then Sansa is back on solid ground, being thrown back beside Missandei. She is shaking and Missandei reaches out one chained hand to her arm, a small show of support while Cersei is still occupied. 

Sansa thinks it is over and that they will be going. But then Daenerys is yelling something and Cersei is startled back to what is happening on the ground. 

“If you harm one hair on her head Cersei! One hair! I will burn the Red Keep, the city! All of it!” Daenerys shouts and Sansa thinks she sounds completely out of control. 

Cersei grins wickedly at them then and grabs Missandei by the arm. Walking her over to the edge. Sansa can see Missandei shaking but she doesn’t dare to intervene. It will be fine, she tells herself, as it was for her. Cersei instead withdraws a dagger and presses it to Missandei’s throat, right at her pulse point which Sansa can see thrums steadily. 

“Do you not see? Young Dragon Queen? I have already harmed her.” Cersei says and presses the blade in, drawing a trickle of deep red blood that Sansa is sure is visible even from the ground. 

Cersei throws Missandei down onto her knees and gives the Dragon Queen one last scathing look. 

“You are but a girl. Return to Essos with your Dragons. Westeros has no love for you nor do I,” Cersei calls and then turns her back on the crowd below. 

All too quickly they are being led back to the Red Keep. Missandei falls in line beside Sansa. And Sansa reaches for her hand, squeezing it the whole way back, refusing to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> uh so first things first, killing off Jaime. I want to preface this by saying that I adore both Jaime and Cersei and their relationship. I fully believe that they are destined to die together as they did in the show and that they will die together in the books if we ever get them. That being said, I didn't know how to fit Jaime into this work that I have diverged on, so for me the easiest route was to kill him off, I'm sorry if that bothers anyone lol but that is my disclaimer!
> 
> secondly I have no idea where this fic is going but that is literally nothing new haha. writing this was weird, I wrote 10k in like 1-2 days then put it down for a week (this is in part because i FINALLY started reading fire & blood after putting it off since the book came out, wow those targs are intriguing though!) and then finished it and then overanalyzed it and thought it was awful lol. But i'm posting it and I hope you guys all still like this!
> 
> jon's reaction to sansa being taken is what plagues me most I feel like. he is obviously instantly crushed and in some ways he wants to just rush to her, in other ways he knows they have to be strategic...he is not Daenerys burning down cities. Giving him that balance is hard, I feel like I am not adequately showing how desperate he is to get to her, but he also can't be constantly dwelling on it. Oh well lol, this is what it is. 
> 
> I don't mean for this note to sound negative haha, writing has been a struggle recently but reading has been incredible. Both with Fire & Blood and fics from several fandoms. We all go through our phases i suppose. As always your support is absolutely everything and I look forward to hearing from you in the comments! <3
> 
> (Also a funny typo I wanted to share I found. When talking about Dany's appearance I say her "braids remained intact" after the battle but I originally typed "brains" so I'm glad I caught that one haha!)


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